


it's warm, your embrace

by pinwheeled



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mentioned Jeon Wonwoo, Mentioned Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi, Separations, oh WOW the angst has appeared in the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 00:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14557134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinwheeled/pseuds/pinwheeled
Summary: We both knew the end, but why did we give love to each other?





	it's warm, your embrace

**Author's Note:**

> This is heavily inspired by JBJ's Call Your Name. I wrote this while looping it, and I think it would set the mood if you listened to it while reading~

 

It’s the winter before their last semester, and Junhui wants to go to the beach.

 

“In this weather?” Jihoon asks incredulously. It’s in the middle of November, and the temperature is fifteen degrees at best. “It’s my last chance,” Junhui says with a grin, and Jihoon hates that he can see the sadness behind it.

 

“Which one?” “That one back in high school, with Soonyoung and Wonwoo.” It was a beautiful beach. Haeunde beach, where they had gone during the holidays, when Jihoon visited home. He loved it, being at home, and what he loved even more was being with his friends at home. Now that Junhui is leaving, he realises too late that maybe home is just wherever his friends are, because there can’t be any other reason why he’s feeling so empty. He’s only ever heard of people walking out of their homes, but this is his home walking away from him.

 

“Why’re you so quiet?” Junhui nudges, and Jihoon scoffs. He’s always quiet, with Junhui being loud enough for the two of them. When they had Soonyoung and Wonwoo, it was noisier, loud laughter and endless chatter filling up his space. College had split them apart, but Junhui never let him feel lonely. “I’m just tired, Junhui,” he replies with a sigh. It _is_ true, after all, college is a constant struggle for grades and performance.

 

“Then we really should go. It’ll be a good break for you after this tiring semester.” Jihoon nods. He thinks he’s giving in to Junhui a lot more easily now that separation looms above their heads like a rain cloud, but deep down in his heart he knows that he gives in to Junhui a lot either way. They’re best friends, brothers, partners who’ve stuck together through thick and thin. Jihoon has more than just a small soft spot for Junhui. 

 

Junhui walks ahead of him, hair lightly tousled by the wind. He’s bundled up in jackets, but he somehow still looks thin. Jihoon’s heart aches that he can’t always check if Junhui is eating a lot when he goes back to China. His heart aches that he won’t be able to walk behind Junhui like this when he goes back to China. His heart aches that he won’t hear Junhui’s soft singing when he goes back to China.

 

With every step he takes, his heart feels heavier, and before he knows it, salty tears are dripping onto the sand below him, mixing with the seawater rushing up to his toes.

 

“Jihoon? What’s wrong?”

 

Jihoon looks down immediately, and he sees the fat droplets of water hit the ground. Drip, drop. Drip, drop. He scolds the waves for being too slow at washing his tears away.

 

A pair of feet appear in his vision, standing in front of him. “Jihoon, look at me. Please? Please tell me what’s wrong.”

 

He looks up, giving in to Junhui again, because his heart aches that he can’t give in to Junhui anymore when he goes back to China. More tears pool in his eyes as he forces his eyes open to take in the sight in front of him. Junhui, gazing into his eyes with worry across his features, holding his chin up with his fingers. His thumb comes up to catch a stray tear, and he takes his time to wipe it, palm cupping Jihoon’s cheek gently. 

 

“Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Jihoon hates that he has to cry when they were supposed to come here to relive their happy memories, hates that he made Junhui worry when Junhui wanted to enjoy his trip, but he can’t help it. 

 

Junhui pulls him into his chest, arms wrapping around his shoulders with practised familiarity. Jihoon knows this means _you’ll be okay_  in Junhui language, and he also knows that Junhui’s wrong. He can’t imagine how he could be okay when Junhui leaves. 

 

“We’ll come back one day,” Junhui mumbles, and Jihoon hears it clear from where his ear is pressed against his ribs. His heart skips when he realises that Junhui said _we_ , because that means one day, they’ll meet again, on this beach, with the waves crashing into their feet and the wind blowing against their faces, just like now, just like back in high school, when they were still bright, young, positive teens. He forces himself not to think of the time in between that and now, for it could be months and years. Months and years without his most trusted companion giggling into his ear during classes and stealing his rice during lunch.

 

“I’ll miss you,” Jihoon sighs, and he feels wet warmness seep into Junhui’s sweater from his tears, he feels fingers threading into his hair in the most comforting manner, he feels Junhui’s heartbeat thrumming against his skull. “I’ll miss you too, Jihoon,” Junhui says, and he places a kiss on Jihoon’s temple, lightly, fleetingly, it feels like it didn’t even happen. “Please don’t cry, you’re going to make me cry as well. It’s not the end, I won’t forget you, you know,” he continues, and when Jihoon pulls away and looks up through his wet eyelashes, he sees Junhui’s nose tinged with the lighter pink like how it does whenever he’s about to cry.

 

“I won’t either,” Jihoon finally says, and Junhui cracks a smile. They both know Jihoon is never upfront with his emotions, settling for teasing and gentle shoving when Soonyoung and Wonwoo said goodbye at the train station, settling for annoyed groans and reluctant hugs when he bid his parents goodbye at the airport. Somehow, he can’t bring himself to do the same for Junhui.

 

“You can’t forget me. There isn’t anyone else who’s willing to give you their bowl of rice for practically every meal you eat together,” Junhui huffs, squeezing his waist lightly. Jihoon chuckles, leaning his head against his chest, “You’re right, there’s no one but you.”

 

It means a lot more than just in the context Junhui brought up, but Jihoon tells himself that it’s alright if Junhui doesn’t get it.

 

“I love you a lot too, Jihoon,” Junhui says greasily, and Jihoon thinks that in all their little jokes, there’s always a little bit of truth. They’re more similar than they initially thought, after all. 

 

After they return to Seoul, they only have a few days before the new and last semester starts, before they are whisked away with assignments and projects and graduation. The ceremony comes faster than they could have imagined, and they take a picture commemorating the end of their arduous journey in college. Jihoon tries not to think about the fact that this is probably their last picture together.

 

After that, they’re left with just a week before Junhui’s flight back home, and he spends the majority of it packing and making sure he’s tied up all his loose ends. Jihoon feels like Junhui’s tied a knot where his heart is, and with farewell coming closer than ever, he can’t help but swallow in all his sadness, a defence mechanism he’s almost used to.

 

He sends Junhui off, ignoring thewhines that he’d end up crying at the departure hall. He doesn’t care about that, not when this is possibly the last time he sees his best friend in the flesh. He doesn’t cry in the end, but he does admit he teared up a little, especially when Junhui shows him a sudden text from Soonyoung and Wonwoo that bid him goodbye and wished him all the best back at home. Some goodbyes don’t mean the end, after all. it didn’t mean the end of old friendships, so it wouldn’t the end of this one, either. He lets his hand linger longer than necessary on Junhui’s arm when he walks towards the departure hall. 

 

Jihoon steps into his apartment and closes the door with a heavy heart. It’s always been quiet, but it seems even more so without his usual company. He’s been living alone for close to eight years now, but his house suddenly feels too big for himself. Jihoon walks over to the front of the couch, sits on the floor and hugs his knees before the first sob rattles itself out of his chest. It’s so painful, so aching, and now he knows why Junhui didn’t want him to go to the airport. Goodbye feels more real than ever, more real than it was when Junhui first mentioned it years back, more real than when they hugged at the beach half a year ago. Junhui has left, and taken a piece of Jihoon with him. After all, Jihoon’s home is where Junhui is.

 

He sits there for hours, tear after tear squeezing out of his eyes, until his crying is reduced to sniffling, till his throat is raw and his nose is stuffy. He doesn’t even know if Junhui has landed, doesn’t know if the sky has turned dark. All he feels is his shaky hands pressing into his own flesh, and his own rapid heartbeat, and the ghost of Junhui’s fingers intertwined in between his own.

 

Ten years is a long time, but Jihoon realises that all the years after that that he lives without Junhui is going to be longer than the time they spent together. He can’t imagine life without Junhui, can’t imagine being with people that aren’t Junhui, can’t imagine loving anyone else but Junhui. He’s never been one to let others in easily, and sticking with Junhui with a childish hope of forever made it worse, leaving him with almost no close friends from college. Jihoon finds that the few weeks after Junhui’s return to China is the hardest, with no one to accompany him, to ask him to get out of bed to eat, no one to check on him when he doesn’t come out of his house.

 

Junhui finally Skypes him after close to two months, and Jihoon wants to feel furious about it, but he could never blame Junhui. “I’ve been busy trying to pack and meet every single uncle who came to welcome me home,” Junhui says, groaning as he stretches. He’s already in his pyjamas, and Jihoon feels stupid for thinking that he looks adorable. 

 

“How is home?” Junhui groans again, “Lonely without you. My parents and brother spend lots of time with me, but I miss you.” Jihoon wishes he could be as honest as Junhui is, be as open with his affection. Maybe just this once, he’ll be selfish and tell Junhui the truth, tell him how much he wants to hold Junhui again, tell him how much he loves him. He knows that Junhui will feel terrible for him, and he’ll take a long time to reject his feelings, because he’s too nice, too kind, and Jihoon never wants to put him in that position.

 

_Maybe not today_ , he sighs internally.

 

“You should spend more time with them, it’ll get better,” he replies. “But yeah, I miss you too,” he adds hastily. 

 

Junhui gives him a small smile, and lifts his hand to touch his laptop screen. Jihoon thinks he might be trying to pinch his cheek through the screen. He chuckles, and shakes his head. Junhui’s always been a little of an oddball, but after all those years, Jihoon finds his quirky actions more endearing than weird.

 

“How’s job-searching?” Jihoon sighs, the pang of reality hitting him square in the face. It isn’t easy getting a job with his music major, but the music school two streets away from his apartment is looking for a new piano teacher, so he tells Junhui that he will try for that. Junhui smiles at the mention of the piano, because they used to sit together, squeezing on the bench and playing together, arms awkwardly pressed against their sides. Jihoon thinks Junhui was always the better player, and it’s a shame that he couldn’t be here to teach the kids instead. 

 

“I really miss you,” Junhui says after Jihoon is done talking about the interview he had. It’s so out of the blue, Jihoon can only stare wordlessly at his screen, searching in Junhui’s eyes for something he can’t name.

 

“I wish I didn’t have to hear your voice through this shitty earpiece, and that I could feel your bony elbow jut me in the side when we play the piano together,” Junhui continues, and Jihoon can hear the lump in his throat even through the bad audio quality. _Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry_ , Jihoon chants insistently in his brain, and he doesn’t know if it’s direct at Junhui or himself, doesn’t know which is more heartbreaking.

 

Junhui eventually apologises after a long silence of just staring at each other, with fond eyes, with sad eyes, with lonely eyes. It was never meant to be so hard, Junhui says, dragging the back of his hand across his eyes roughly. They both knew this was going to happen eventually, so why is it still so painful? Jihoon laments at the universe for separating them. The sea between them is only a small blue mass on the world map, but it is so achingly large when the person you love is on the other side of the shore.

 

“I have work to do, I have a meeting tomorrow,” Junhui says before waving goodbye. Another goodbye. Junhui is so busy with his job as his uncle’s secretary, he can barely squeeze time to send Jihoon more than five messages a day, let alone call him. Jihoon misses his voice so much.

 

There are certain perks to teaching piano lessons at the music centre, such as free access to the studios and equipment. Jihoon learns that there is a recording studio on the second floor, and armed with his music knowledge and passion for composing, he makes it his second home. Soon, he becomes busy, too busy to do anything other than write new songs, play new tunes. He always believed that he could be more than just a piano teacher, and he was determined to chase his dreams.

 

In every song he writes, in every line he sings, there is one person who surfaces in his mind, one image that appears on the back of his eyelids. It is a beautiful beach, with blue waves that reflect the blinding sunlight, with golden sand that feels like clouds as he walks on it, with Junhui in front of him, holding his hand out, waiting for him to grab it.

 

Jihoon pours all his unspoken feelings into songs, writes his longing in words that he could never be able to say out loud. His sincerity earned him the attention of a music production company, and soon, he was bidding goodbye to the owner of the music school and setting his sights on bigger dreams. 

 

(He forgets to tell Junhui.)

 

Busy was a condition back in college, when he was busy it meant that he was drowning in schoolwork and studying, but now, busy has become his lifestyle, and he can’t find it in himself to take a break. He wants to achieve more every single day, and all he does is sit in front of his computer and breathe in the crisp, cold air of the recoding studio. His team often tells him to take it slow, but the rush of adrenaline that comes with every new idea pushes him straight back into work. 

 

Without knowing, a year has passed, and he’s writing songs for famous artists, he’s having his name on important events, and he’s just a stone’s throw away from all his childhood dreams. Without knowing, he’s lost contact with the one person who kept him going at the start of his journey. He doesn’t have time to feel lonely anymore, doesn’t have time to pine for a person he can’t have. Sometimes, he sees the beach in his dreams, the same glistening water, but Junhui is far, so far away. He’d jolt up and feel an emptiness in his chest, but he would fall right back asleep, exhausted from work, and forget it the next morning.

 

“You’re so busy,” Junhui chuckles. It’s his birthday, but he was the one who texted to remind Jihoon, and it caused a wave of guilt to crash over Jihoon’s head. He glances at the calendar, and does a double take at the month. It’s been a little over a year since he started producing, and he hasn’t talked to Junhui ever since. They’ve only exchanged a few text messages, those of which dwindled as well due to the lack of replies from the increasingly busy schedules they both had.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon says, and he means it, “happy birthday, Junhui.”

 

 Junhui hums, and he gives a small smile. He looks older, more tired than he seemed at the end of college, more mature than he did one year ago. Jihoon can’t believe time passed so quickly. 

 

“How are you?” He asks, and rests his chin on his palm, looking so effortlessly beautiful. Jihoon feels his heart skips a beat despite everything that has happened and everything that was missed in the time they didn’t contact each other. Even after all this time, his heart still yearned for Junhui, longed to walk on the beach together again. Maybe the songs were just a channel to release all of his emotions after all. 

 

“Fine,” is all he can manage, because looking at Junhui makes him feel like he’s eighteen all over again, pressing his fingers into the piano keys with Junhui beside him, completing his song. 

 

“I missed you,” Junhui breathes, and Jihoon doesn’t know if it still means anything after all that they’ve been through. They’ve survived more than a year without each other, and Jihoon can’t help but think it’s an improvement from uselessly crying on the night Junhui left. 

 

“Me too,” he mumbles, and he isn’t sure if Junhui caught it over the white noise wherever he is, “are you outside now?”

 

Junhui chuckles, the smile gently reaching his eyes in a way that tugs at Jihoon’s heartstrings. “I’m in Seoul, actually.”

 

The air around him stills, it settles just like the dust did in his apartment now that he practically lives in the studio, settles just like the silence that clouded their friendship. “Right now?” Jihoon croaks, leaning closer to his phone. The distance that felt like an uncrossable trench between them was suddenly reduced to a minimum, and Jihoon doesn’t know if he wants to close the gap.

 

“I’ve been here for a week or so,” Junhui says, taking a sip from his drink, “but I saw on your colleague’s post that you were busy, so I didn’t call you.”

 

Jihoon feels his heart jump erratically at the thought of meeting him. After all this time, he can’t help but long to hold Junhui’s hand. “I’ll go find you now. Don’t move,” he instructs, pushing open his studio door and taking a deep breath at the outside air. He ends the call with Junhui so the the latter can send him directions to the cafe that he’s at.

 

“You’re going out?” One of his colleagues ask as he walks towards the main entrance. “Finally man, it’s time you get some fresh air.” Jihoon smiles, and takes a moment to absorb the feeling of the sunlight beating down on his face. It could just be the fact that Junhui was here and they were going to meet, but the air definitely felt fresher than it did on the way back home two nights ago.

 

_I’m at the cafe we used to go to to study_ , Junhui says, _I think you know which one, right?_

 

Of course he does, he remembers every memory they share. Even if decades pass, he would be able to paint out the beautiful sea they saw together, the image that haunts his heart and mind, that grounds him when times are tough, that makes him smile when he’s stressed out.

 

When he’s five steps away from the cafe, he stills, feet frozen into the pavement. What should he say? What should he do? It’s been a long year since they’ve talked, what if it’s awkward? What if he finds out things he doesn’t want to find out, things that Junhui hadn’t had the chance to tell him, like a new partner?

 

_What are you standing outside for_

 

_Come in_

 

Junhui’s already crossed the thousands of kilometres of ocean between them, and Jihoon only has the last few metres to walk. Junhui said he missed him. It’s _missed_  now, because they have no more missing to do, not when they’re in the same space again. He pockets his phone, steels his heart, and pushes the door open.

 

When he walks over to the table in the corner, Junhui smiles, and Jihoon feels every last shred of his walls falter, feels his heart trip at the sight of Junhui in front of him, healthy and happy and warm, feels the emotions from a year ago wash ashore again, feels like the same boy who cried into Junhui’s sweater during what seemed like the first of many goodbyes. And here he was, saying _hello_  and walking back into his life like he was never meant to leave at all. Junhui looks at him with an intensity that could rival the sun, exudes a warmth hotter than the summer, and yet as comforting as spring. It feels like a dream, like a faraway reality that couldn’t possibly be happening right now. Junhui reaches forward to pinch his cheek, and he jolts at the contact, at the gentle touch of Junhui’s fingertips, at the fond look on Junhui’s face. Jihoon searches his eyes for that something again, and now, without the barrier of the grainy computer screen between them, he finally knows what he’s looking for. A promise, that they’ll meet again, that they’ll be able to share their time and space and memories again. A promise that there would be a forever, somehow, sometime, and they’d both see it together. What was uncertain before was now set in stone, written in black and white on the story that ties their fates together. Now, with Junhui within his grasp again, ever so charming and endearingly grinning at him, Jihoon feels the knot in his chest slowly unravel. He slowly reaches up to place his hand on Junhui’s, revels in the warmth of his hand, in the feeling of Junhui’s fingers interlocking in his. Finally, after an agonising eternity, he’s _finally_ holding Junhui’s hand again.

 

“Hey,” Junhui laughs quietly, breathy giggles sounding like the most beautiful melody in the world, “I’m back.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you liked it hehe please do comment if you have any feedback or suggestions! And please give a lot of love to junhoon <3


End file.
